


Return One

by talkingtothesky



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alive Nathan, Angst and Feels, Canonical Character Death, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Hope, M/M, Post-Canon, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 01:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: Shaw and Fusco go back to the Library as their base for working the Numbers. Nathan shows up there, looking for shelter after a long time on the run.





	Return One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryontop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryontop/gifts).



> _“I’ll see you when I see you.”_  
>  _“Not if I see you first.”_  
>  \- Shaw & Fusco, Return 0

 

Shaw gave him until the new year to recover before she found him again.

 

"What do you think, boy? Is Lionel ready to start working his side-job again? I think so too." Shaw straightened up from affectionately rubbing her hands through Bear's fur. She cast a sideways glance at Fusco.

 

"You better come see it." She said decisively, beckoning over her shoulder.

 

"It?" Lionel followed her down the street, imagining optimistically that Bear had fathered a litter of puppies and there was one going spare for him to take home to Lee.

 

What she had to show him was another little secret his friends had been keeping from him for years.

 

"Our old base. Finch used to work from here. Root stayed a while too."

 

He was grudgingly impressed. "A library. Doesn't surprise me. Bet it suited Mr. Vocabulary down to the ground."

 

"And Bear was happy here. I think he misses it. The subway'll still be there, if I need to access the Machine's servers directly for something. But since the furniture blew up and we don't need to hide underground anymore..."

 

He agreed with the conclusion she had come to. "Here's better." Lionel wanted to look out of the windows, size up the neighborhood. Between him and the view, there was a white sheet draped over something angular, the end of it trailing on the ground. He moved to walk over it. 

 

Shaw snapped her fingers just in time. "Don't step there. Broken glass."

 

Lionel retracted his foot, took a few steps back and gingerly bent down, lifting one edge to peer underneath. The floor was a sea of shattered pieces, above it the remains of a buckled metal frame. He let the sheet fall. "You heard of sweeping up?"

 

Shaw snorted. "That's you volunteering."

 

Lionel shrugged off her disdain. He'd bring a broom next time. Being a single dad meant you got used to cleaning. "Wouldn't want the dog to hurt his paws." He said reasonably, which took the wind out of her sails.

 

"So anyway. Meet here whenever we need to. I'll restock the kitchen -"

 

Fusco frowned. "There's a kitchen?"

 

She pointed at the door marked Special Collections and he opened it. Amongst the shelves lined with books, someone had left a microwave, a couple of unwashed mugs, old wrappers for Hot Pockets, and not much else. 

 

Shaw continued talking in the main room as he took a look around "...and grab some medical supplies. If I get busy will you remind me?"

 

This last question wasn't directed at him, but the voice in her ear. He could tell by the softer tone she used when talking to the Machine, which still spoke like Root. It gave him the creeps, but seemed to make Shaw happy, so he did his best not to judge.

 

He returned to the corridor, softly closing the door behind him. A moment later, another door banged shut downstairs. He and Shaw glanced at each other, equally alarmed. She hadn’t invited anyone else.

 

As a pair, they drew their guns and moved silently towards the stairs. Shaw put her back to the wall, creeping down on silent feet, and Fusco covered her from the landing, aiming between the banisters at the level below.

 

The intruder was a man. Tall, skinny, blond hair. When he spotted Shaw on the staircase, he froze where he stood.

 

"Oh! Hello." He cautiously raised his hands, displaying empty palms. "I didn't know anyone else was here. Before you shoot me - "

 

Simultaneously, Shaw and Fusco both recognised the man and said his name. "Ingram."

 

He'd aged a bit since Fusco had dug up those photos of him, back in 2011, when Reese had given him the job of looking into Finch. Ingram looked like hell. His face had a grayish-yellow tinge, eyes sunken and narrow, shadowed with heavy bags. 

 

Ingram smiled wanly at his name. "You probably won't believe me, but I'm here because I own this building. Or, I used to."

 

Lionel said: "You're Harold's old friend. From M.I.T." He didn’t know why a billionaire would bother owning an abandoned library, but rich people had their projects.

 

Shaw was blunt enough to come right out with the tough questions. "Weren't you meant to be dead?"

 

Ingram examined her a long moment, and something seemed to click in his head. "I could say the same about you, Indigo Five Alpha. I was held captive. She told me all about you."

 

These cryptic words sent a bolt of fear and confusion through him, and Lionel’s grip tightened on his gun. He tried to catch Shaw’s eye, but she wasn’t looking at him. "You've been with Samaritan? Shaw warned me what they did to people."

 

Kinda recklessly, Fusco thought, Shaw tucked away her gun and approached Ingram, descending the stairs while deftly flicking open her pocket knife. "Let me see your neck." 

 

Lionel stayed where he was, watching them intently.

 

Ingram lowered his hands. "You won't find anything. I was Control's prisoner, not Greer's." 

 

He submitted to Shaw's investigation, pinching the skin of his nape and forearms, then she swiftly searched his clothing for concealed weapons and bugs, coming up empty-handed.

 

"She told  _ you _ my ISA codename." Shaw sounded sceptical, but she switched tack. "Do you know what happened to her?"

 

"No, do you? She was there one day and the next she wasn't."

 

Lionel realized Shaw and Ingram had similar experiences. Both presumed dead, both escaped prisoners. No wonder she was starting to believe him.

 

"We think Greer made her disappear. So you've been on the run since when?”

 

“Not sure exactly. I slept rough in New Orleans for a few weeks before I made it back to Texas and felt safe enough to get my bearings. That was June.” 

 

Fusco winced in sympathy. 

 

Shaw sounded impressed. “Seven months? That’s a long time to make it on your own.” She gestured up the stairs. “Come up and sit down before you fall down.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Lionel lowered his gun and watched them come up the stairs towards him. Shaw held her arm out behind Ingram’s back in case she had to catch him. He did look like a strong gust of wind could blow him over. 

 

Ingram nodded at Fusco when he walked past. Lionel just stared. It was like in the movies, when a ghost passed through someone and left them feeling all tingly and weird. 

 

Ingram held his arms out when they entered the main workspace, Fusco bringing up the rear. “Six years since I was last here. It hasn’t changed a bit.” He patted an old-fashioned patterned strip which ran down the corner of a wall, looking elated.

 

Just then, Bear came around the corner and sniffed him. Shaw and Fusco held their breath. Then Bear gave one of his daft doggy smiles, and that was it. If the dog trusted Ingram, so would they.

 

Ingram amended his statement, cautiously patting Bear’s head. “Okay, the dog is new.”

 

“He’s mine.” Shaw said firmly. “Try anything, he’ll rip your throat out.”

 

Ingram put on a more serious face. “Understood.”

 

Fusco spotted a wooden chair in the corner and pushed it towards him. Nathan unbuttoned his suit jacket as he sat and Lionel got a glimpse of how thin Ingram was around the middle.

 

Shaw was unlocking a tall set of gates behind the desk and climbing up the ladder. She stuck her hand far into a shelf and drew out a bottle of amber liquid. She made a triumphant noise. “So they didn’t smash everything.” She tucked the bottle under one arm and reached in again, retrieving a drinking glass. She climbed back down the ladder and offered it to Nathan. 

 

He shook his head, blocking it with a hand. “No, thanks. I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

 

Fusco patted his own chest. “No kidding? Me too.”

 

Shaw scoffed. "Losers." She put the glass down and knocked back a swig straight from the bottle.

 

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and asked Nathan: “Have you got somewhere to stay?”

 

“Hotel room. I’ve been using a lot of false names. Checked out this morning. I was hoping to stop here tonight.”

 

The words were out before Lionel had thought about them. “You can stay with me.” He had a spare couch, so why not? At least it would be more comfortable than New Orleans.

 

Nathan looked taken aback. “Really? That's very generous. You don't know me.”

 

“I know you were important to Harold. Friend of a friend. That's good enough for me.”

 

Nathan looked moved, graciously accepting the offer.

 

Shaw smirked at Fusco knowingly. 

 

Fusco glanced back and forth between them and changed the subject. “So… this Control person. Who is she and what did she want with you all these years?”

 

* * *

 

It was several hours before Nathan had got them up to speed on what his life had been like since his death. Every so often, Shaw chimed in with what she knew. Control had tricked even her own second-in-command. Hersh had rigged the bomb that took Nathan out and injured Finch. The government had wanted Ingram dead, so he had to appear to be dead, but she still wanted to question him and he wanted to talk.

 

"How did you escape?" Lionel asked, and beside him, Shaw twitched.  

 

"Control threatened to hand me over, near the end, but soon after, she vanished. The whole place fell apart without her. I heard a rumor Greer was furious that Control had been keeping about fifty political prisoners away from Samaritan. He ordered everyone killed. I freed as many people from the cells as I could, but they were being gunned down twice as fast. When I finally made it to the outer fire door, I had to kill a guard." His voice cracked on the last few words, and Shaw briefly squeezed his shoulder.

 

Nathan seemed to remember where he was and gave Lionel a hard look. “Sorry, you’re a detective. Is it your duty to arrest me now?"

 

"No. I’ve killed. Not all in the line of duty. You did what you had to.” 

 

Nathan breathed in deep, let it out slow, eyeing Fusco like he was fascinated. "Okay, then."

 

* * *

 

Fusco picked up takeout on the way home. They spread the cartons out on the coffee table. He was glad to see the man eat something, but could do without the appreciative sound effects. Nathan slurped wonton soup off a plastic spoon, then hummed in the back of his throat like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Lionel was tempted to ask him what he’d been eating since breaking out of prison, but decided he probably didn’t want to know.

 

Lionel saw Nathan looking around the place curiously and decided to explain. “That’s Lee’s room. My son, he’s fifteen.” Lionel winced and corrected himself. “Sixteen in two weeks. He keeps reminding me.”

 

Nathan smiled wistfully. “I have a son.”

 

Lionel knew, but didn’t say anything.  _ ‘I followed him around the city because he was hanging out with my friend’s boss’ _ wasn’t something any father wanted to hear from a cop. 

 

“He’ll be thirty-three now. I have no idea where he is.” Nathan inclined his head. ”And he thinks I’m dead, so.”

 

“I might be able to help you track him down.”

 

“I’d like to take you up on that. Something to discuss in the morning. In the meantime, can I use your bathroom? It’s possible I've been wearing this same suit longer than is good for it." 

 

"You bet. I’ll get you some towels, hang on."

 

Fusco went to his walk-in closet which doubled as a laundry room. He found the towels and, folded away on the top shelf, one of John’s suits. He hadn’t been able to part with any of that stuff yet. Ingram’s reappearance gave Lionel more hope than ever that he’d done the right thing keeping it. He hesitated a bit, but there was nothing else for it. He walked back through the living area and knocked on the bathroom door. It opened, Nathan starting to unbutton his light pink shirt.

 

Lionel held out the bundle of clothes and towels. “Nothing of mine will fit you, but these might be close to your size. They belonged to my partner.”

 

Nathan quirked an eyebrow.

 

Lionel looked down at his feet, embarrassed. “What? He got shot. A lot. It was just convenient.”

 

The confusion melted off the other man’s face. “Oh, your - yes, sorry. Thanks.”

 

He finally took them, and closed the door. 

 

Lionel went to make up a bed on the couch, feeling foolish and vaguely guilty.

 

* * *

 

Nathan was fast asleep when Fusco left for work, early next morning. He left a note, with his number, suggesting they meet up at the library in the afternoon.

 

When Fusco arrived, he’d forgotten about offering to clean up the broken glass, but Nathan and Shaw had taken care of it between them. They seemed to have developed a mutual respect, but they sometimes spoke in language which went over his head. Having a background in Intelligence gave them a different perspective than an ordinary detective got to see.

 

But there were other things Fusco could say that Shaw wouldn’t.

 

Nathan opened his arms wide and clasped Lionel’s hand when he approached, the other patting his shoulder. “Ta-da!” He announced, turning Fusco around and opening the door to show him the cleaned-out, revamped kitchen. They’d cleaned up, pushed back some of the bookshelves and managed to squeeze in a dining table. “Sameen likes food, you like food, I am evidently in need of food…”

 

Lionel nodded his approval. “So we’ve got our own break room. That’s nice!”

 

“I’m amazed Harold didn’t think of it,” Shaw added, “given how much he apparently disliked people eating near his keyboards.”

 

“Did he tell you that? He liked to pour coffee all over mine.” Nathan chuckled.

 

Shaw coughed to partially cover the word. “Hypocrite.” Somehow she made it sound fond.

 

Nathan reached out and put his hand heavily on Lionel’s shoulder, as though for support. “I wasn’t ready to ask this, yesterday. Where is Harold?”

 

Lionel’s mouth went dry. He looked up into Nathan’s eyes, heart thudding in his chest, and couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell him. It was part of his job to talk to grieving relatives on a daily basis, but this…

 

Shaw came to his rescue. “We…don’t know, exactly. There’s been no word from him or John, since November, when we took down Samaritan.”

 

With each of her words, the hope seemed to bleed out of Nathan’s frame, so Lionel urgently offered some of his own. “But they’ve both faked their deaths before. It’s just a matter of waiting for them to be settled enough to contact us.” More morbidly, he added: “I checked every morgue’s records afterwards, gave out their descriptions. Nobody like them ever showed up. I followed every lead.”

 

“And hey, look at you and me. We’re proof.” Shaw reminded Nathan.

 

Wanting more anecdotes like the keyboard thing, Fusco asked: "What else can you tell us about Glasses?” Using the old nickname cheered him up.

 

Nathan took a step back and put his hands in the pockets of John’s old suit. "He's always played things pretty close to the vest. Why don't you tell me what he told you, and I'll fill in the gaps."

 

Fusco thought back. "He never really told me anything. But just from being around him, I know he can’t stand AC/DC. And he likes to hack the Pentagon when he's high."

 

Nathan laughed out loud at that. 

 

_ Great laugh. _ Lionel thought to himself, absently.  _ I gotta make him do that again sometime. _

 

“That sounds about right. Always a troublemaker. But still determined to do the right thing, whatever ‘right’ was. Damn, I’ve missed him. Missed talking about him. I’m glad the three of us met.” But even as he spoke, Nathan was backing away, and Lionel knew the laughter had been short-lived.

 

"John told me once…Harold started saving people, for you, in your honor. So it’s good to meet you too.” 

 

Nathan sounded very hoarse. "And even now he's gone, you still want to help them?"

 

"Of course! Once you know about it, you never forget. And Harold believed in justice for ordinary people. So do I.” Lionel jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb, feeling more confident. 

 

Nathan’s face crumpled alarmingly.

 

Lionel reached out to him instinctively, but Nathan sidestepped, shielding himself. "Sorry. Excuse me."

 

He hurried off down a corridor. When Fusco tried to follow, Shaw got in his way, shaking her head. “Just give him a minute. That was some speech, Lionel.”

 

Fusco rubbed his temple. “Did I make it better or worse?” 

 

Shaw shrugged. “I’m not good at this stuff. But I agreed with every word you said.” She sat down with him at their new dining table. 

 

When Nathan came back, it was with red-rimmed eyes, rubbing his stuffy nose.  

 

They agreed to start working as a team on the Numbers the very next day.

 

* * *

 

“You know how to work one of these?” Shaw said cheekily, as though Nathan were a clueless grandpa.

 

He sat down in front of their new computer workstation and pushed up his sleeves. “I’m no Harold. But give me a minute, something might come back to me.”

 

* * *

 

Nathan was more than capable of coordinating back at base while Shaw and Fusco did their thing out on the streets.

 

It was still weird without John, but seeing people go home happy to their families was a whole lot better than doing nothing.

 

And once the billionaire figured out how to get access to his money again, things seemed more and more like old times. (And he bought himself new suits, so John’s old one went back in Fusco’s closet, just in case.)

 

Nathan didn’t sleep over at Fusco’s again, which made sense, because Lee was back from staying at his Mom’s, and Lionel’s time - when he wasn’t working either of his jobs - was spent watching his son grow up: turning sixteen, going to prom, acing his tryout for the Cyclones. His boy was on his way to playing hockey professionally. 

 

Everything was pretty much as it should be - until Nathan messed up.

 

* * *

 

“You don’t even know how to aim it!” Fusco exclaimed. Nathan’s unregistered weapon was lying on the table next to them. He’d managed to scare off the perp, but he’d clipped an innocent bystander, and now Lionel was gonna have to do a hell of a lot of work to convince the guy to keep quiet, and cover this up. 

 

Nathan was still trying to play it down. “I handled Numbers all by myself, at the start. With varying levels of success, I admit, but still. You were twenty minutes away. What was I supposed to do, just sit here?”

 

“You’re supposed to trust Shaw to get there in time! You don’t put yourself in danger, that’s what I’m for. Because I’m trained for this shit.”

 

Nathan grabbed his face and pulled him in, and Lionel reacted defensively, shoving him off. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

Nathan winced. “Hoping to distract you.”

 

“Wow, no. Not cool.” Lionel said, swallowing his anger with an effort and walking out. 

 

Clumsy attempt though it had been, Nathan had redirected his attention. Lionel was still hacked off about the way the situation went down, but he was also quietly relieved that he wasn’t the only one who maybe felt something.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Lionel got a text, while sitting in front of the game. He’d just finished writing his statement: pack of lies, of course. His side-job was still making him a little crooked in his main job, years after HR was dead and gone.

 

_ Truly sorry. Let me make it up to you. Salvation Churro? Tomorrow night? _

 

Salvation Churro was a restaurant. Fusco had spent an hour there, weeks before, tailing a number. As often happened, he’d had to leave before he finished his food. Lionel had complained about not having time to go back there. Nathan had remembered.

 

Lionel cradled his phone for a moment, then tapped out a reply. 

 

_ Fine, smart guy. But it’s gonna take a lot of churros to make this right. _

 

* * *

 

Nathan still couldn’t really be seen in public for fear of being noticed by someone who remembered his famous face. Especially now he’d regained his health, because he looked more like his old self again. What was good about choosing this place strategically was the low lighting. Plus he turned up in a ridiculous pair of sunglasses. After dark, in a chilly rooftop restaurant. Lionel wanted to grin every time he looked at him, which wasn’t helped by Nathan periodically tweaking the glasses up to wink at him, then dropping them back down, fast as lightning.

 

“You gotta stop that. You’re killin’ me.”

 

“Nobody’s looking at us. They’re looking at the view.”

 

Lionel shook his head. “I’m not.”

 

Nathan grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Before…you weren’t opposed to the kiss itself, just the timing, correct?”

 

He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

 

“Will you tell me when it’s the right time?”

 

Lionel nodded, slowly, thinking about it, starting to smile.

 

Nathan looked pleased. “Then that’s all I need.”

 

* * *

 

One of the things they had done to maintain continuity with their former Numbers, was set up a PO Box. People like Megan Tillman and Sofia Campos had liked to send Reese and Finch regular updates on their lives. Ever since Samaritan came online and the team disappeared, their various email inboxes filled up and started bouncing back messages undelivered. So the team asked them to send snail mail instead. Shaw got into the habit of helping Bear to stamp his paw on thank you cards, letting everyone know they were still listening, still cared, still remembered them. Once a fortnight or so, Fusco emptied the box and brought the contents back to the library.

 

On one such occasion, a photograph fell out of an envelope. It landed face down. Lionel crouched down to pick it up and read:

 

_ Italy is wonderful. Hope all is well with you. H _

 

In the top right corner was written the date: 20/05/2016.

 

Three weeks ago. Lionel stumbled back against the library wall and his hands trembled as he turned the paper over. It was Harold, with different glasses, his cheek pressed tenderly against Grace’s, both of them beaming into the camera.

 

Lionel sobbed out a relieved breath as his eyes brimmed over with tears. Nathan turned the corner and saw him, rushed over. Lionel handed him the picture.

 

Nathan read it, and reread it, his face a blank mask. Then he jumped up and down like an idiot, yelling “He’s alive!” He pulled Lionel into a tight, back-slapping hug and they were laughing and crying, overjoyed.

 

* * *

 

For his first official date with Nathan, Lionel wore the suit Andre Cooper had helped him choose, a couple of years earlier. It still fit him, miracle of miracles. He felt like he needed it, as a good luck charm. He was even more nervous than he remembered being, the day he had got married to Lee’s mom.

 

Nathan’s face lit up when Lionel walked into the ridiculously high-priced restaurant. “Someone’s trying to impress me,” he commented, taking Lionel’s hand when he reached the table. 

 

Fusco scowled. "Trying. Is it working?"

 

Nathan sat back down and patted the padded booth beside him. "Take a seat." He slid his arm around Lionel’s shoulders, and kissed him, long and sweet. 

 

Lionel was blushing when they broke apart. "That good, huh."

 

Nathan grinned and kissed him again. "Mmmm. Even better."

 

The rest of the date went perfectly well, except…Lionel Fusco could never quite catch a break. 

 

His phone went off, twice, and he was obliged to tear himself away. "Hey, Captain. It’s my night off." 

 

He came back to the table a few minutes later. "They want me across town. I've got a body."

 

Nathan discreetly gave him a squeeze. "Yeah, you do."

 

There were a lot of comments from his colleagues about the fancy suit when Fusco arrived at the scene, but he could handle some light ribbing. He did his job with a little extra spring in his step, knowing Nathan would be waiting up for him at home.

 

* * *

 

"I love you,” Nathan murmured, while they cuddled on Lionel’s new king-size bed, which was far too big for his average-sized room. “Move in with me.”

 

Lionel moved back a bit to look at him squarely. “Nathan. I can’t. It took me a crazy long time to save enough to buy this place. It might be small but it’s mine, y’know? Mine and Lee’s. We picked it together. And then you come along…you can’t erase all that. I won’t uproot his life.”

 

Nathan nodded along. “You’re right, of course you are.” 

 

Fusco flicked him in the middle of his forehead. “I love you, too. You better not go off and secretly mope about this. The Machine will call me up to tell me again.”

 

Nathan, turning playful, covered his face with both hands and rolled over. “The rejection, it burns!”

 

Lionel took the opportunity to tickle Nathan’s hips, hands travelling erratically until they met over his stomach, where Nathan was developing a very respectable old man paunch. No more skinny sack of bones, was this guy. Lionel was taking good care of his boyfriend. They were going to be just fine.

 

* * *

 

Lionel squeezed Nathan’s hand tight as they got off the plane in Bermuda. 

 

After they got through security (with Nathan’s fake passport, always a fun time) and picked up their luggage, Will Ingram was waiting to meet them. 

 

“Hey, Dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next stop, Italy.


End file.
